Marauders By Moonlight
by Hyphen
Summary: The first part of a light-and-fluffy, non-perverted


A new fic! Well, not exactly _new_- I started this back in August. And, now, after several months' absence, I have decided to complete and post it at last. I blame the new chaptering system - after all, that's what got me to return to this site and inspired me to start posting again...  
  
All that said, I would not say that this is one of my best efforts, but it might well have some worthwhile moments. Some good bickering, for starters. Reviews much appreciated, as usual.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**MARAUDERS BY MOONLIGHT**   
  
  
"Maybe we should _make_ him take his medicine." Peter's voice was filled with concern. He had abandoned his work, and his round forehead was creased with worry as he eyed Remus' bed. He would, no doubt, have eyed Remus, too, but all those piled up blankets made it hard to find enough Remus to eye: even his head was hidden beneath a fluffy pillow. The only visible bit was a pale arm, clutching the pillow in place.  
  
"You go right ahead," Sirius suggested, threading a thin leather strap through the loop he had attached to his Sneakoscope. "I'll watch."  
  
"Grrrrrr," was the fluffy pillow's response.  
  
Peter's worried frown deepened. "We could do it, you know. If we pinched his nose shut, he'd have to open his mouth," he explained earnestly, picking up a small vial labelled MIGRAINE MITIGATOR.  
  
"Wow, Peter," Sirius' glance was full of admiration, "What a brilliant suggestion. Let us follow it, by all means. I only hope Moony remembers that it was _your_ brilliant suggestion when we meet him again later tonight." He sat back expectantly, and slid his new Sneakoscope pendant around his neck. (Where it started spinning lazily, just on principle.)  
  
"Oh, give it up, you two," James looked up from the old book-bag he'd been lining with rags. "You know he doesn't want that stuff messing up his head tonight."  
  
"Too late," Sirius shook his head sadly, "he's already a raving lunatic..."  
  
"Grrrrrr," said Remus.  
  
"I suppose you're right, James," Peter sighed. "After all, we can't be too careful. We'll be working so very close to the Castle... a bit too close, perhaps..."  
  
"Oh, Wormtail, don't be so _typical_, Sirius moaned. "The Quidditch field is 'too close.' Hogsmeade is 'too far.' Next month, why don't you do us all a favour and outline the area you consider safe with Flag Marks. It shouldn't be very difficult, it's bound to be a very small area..."  
  
"Well, Remus doesn't like it, either!" Peter glared at him.  
  
"That's just because..." here Sirius cleared his throat, to continue in Remus' hoarse tones. "This frivolity is not a reasonable use of werewolf time and resources!"  
  
"Grrrrrr," Remus agreed.  
  
"Be that as it may," Sirius continued. "Whether he likes it or not, Remus _has_ agreed to participate in this night's adventure."  
  
"Well, he _had_ to agree," Peter smiled. "Even I have to agree that the timing is perfect. A full moon the night before Ravenclaw plays Slytherin!"  
  
"Yeah," James was grinning broadly. "This Quidditch prank should work out quite well. Pity about the last one, though," he frowned. "We should have realized that Flitwick could disenchant coloured grass in a second."  
  
"Just as well, really, Picasso," Sirius interjected, sniggering. "After you were finished painting that playing field, the picture looked much less like a beaver tail-slapping a comatose snake and much more like a beaver having a rather rude and unpleasant experience."  
  
"Yeah, too bad we messed it up," Peter sighed. "But at least that way we weren't ever really under suspicion, and the Hufflepuffs got the blame."  
  
"We _do_ have a reputation for quality prank-work, I suppose," James beamed. "And there wasn't even any need to feel guilty: those poor Hufflepuffs were overjoyed. Being blamed for a prank, however pathetic, did wonders for their street cred."  
  
"Grrrrrrumph," said Remus.  
  
"What did he say?" Peter asked anxiously.  
  
"I'm not sure..." Sirius' hand was cupped around his ear. "I think he said he's planning to use you as a Quaffle tonight."  
  
Peter looked hurt. And worried, in fact.  
  
"For the last time, Sirius," James said with no little irritation, "We are _not_ going to try playing Quidditch in animal form. Dogs can't fly broomsticks."  
  
"Right, Sirius," Peter added, earnestly, "Remember what Remus said: Dogs do _not_ have opposable thumbs."  
  
"Hmpf," Sirius shrugged. "We _do_ have opposable jaws. And Wormtail would make such a perfect, _perfect_ Quaffle."  
  
"_Sirius_!" Peter half-shouted in terror. "Sirius, I think you're a... a... prat!"  
  
At this point there was a small commotion, as Sirius leapt at Peter, grabbing him around the neck and pinching his nose shut. "Quick... James... the soap!" he gasped. "We _must_ wash out his mouth! Have you ever heard such language?"  
  
"GRRRRRR," said Remus.  
  
"Oh, cut it out, you two," James suggested. "You're giving _me_ a headache."  
  
Sirius released Peter - fighting Peter was never that much fun anyway - and they spent a brief, quiet moment finishing up their prank preparations.  
  
"But, seriously, guys," Peter broke the silence once more, "Remus doesn't look too good. What if he can't get up himself? We'll have to help him... OUCH!" he exclaimed, as something large and pillowy hit the side of his head with some force.  
  
Wand in hand, Remus was sitting up slowly, shielding his eyes with one trembling hand. One side of his pale face twitched slightly in rhythm with his pulse. Still, his expression was quite neutral, and he seemed in no need of Peter's help. Grabbing for his cloak, he stood up unsteadily and stumbled off down the staircase.  
  
"Grrrrr," he said by way of fond farewell.  
  
  
  
Some half an hour later, the remaining three Marauders were creating quite an amusing little scene by changing into their most tattered, long-since outgrown robes.   
  
"Just look," Sirius said, turning this way and that to examine his particularly high hemline, "Check out these legs, guys. So _sexy_."  
  
"Yeah, Sirius, I think you should go down _outside_ the cloak, this time, so the girls can get an eyeful," James suggested helpfully, throwing a silvery cloak around his body.  
  
"I wouldn't want to cause a riot, James."  
  
"I really think a _revolt_ would be far more likely," said the air at Sirius' left ear.  
  
"Shush!" Peter admonished his friends as they prepared to leave the bedroom.  
  
  
  
Walking carefully, with only a minimum of shoving, the complete absence of the Marauders eventually reached the Whomping Willow.  
  
Once concealed in its shadow, but still out of the reach of its violent branches, the three boys stepped out from under the cloak. James folded it up into a neat little package as Sirius did a few leisurely stretches. Peter looked around quickly and was gone again, almost at once.  
  
Sirius looked down at the rat at his feet. "Run along, then," he said. "Operation Rescue Remus has, once again, began."  
  
The rat squeaked once, then made its way past the wildly swinging branches and touched the knothole. Then, the tree was still, and an enormous black dog was shambling towards the trunk.  
  
Padfoot circled it once, sniffing noisily, and stopped at a promising spot. Then, Wormtail jumped away just in time as his friend proceeded to mark his territory in time-honoured canine fashion.  
  
Prongs listened to the tinkling noise, tossing his head with impatience. Canines. Why did they have to ruin perfectly good trees in this way? What was a self-respecting stag meant to sharpen his antlers on, with all trees of note repeatedly besmirched in this stupidly moist and smelly way?  
  
At last, the bright sound ceased. With a sidelong glance at his friends, the great dog finally deigned to crawl in among the roots.  
  
  
  
Padfoot padded along the long corridor, tail wagging. He truly loved having a tail. Quite perfect for expressing the more pleasant emotions, and ever so useful for accidentally sweeping up rats.  
  
He briefly considered stopping to chase it, but then the familiar smell of wolf-Remus drifting down the corridor brought him back to his senses. The intermingled scents of blood and anger caused him to speed up. He let out a series of sharp, concerned barks.  
  
  
Up ahead, in a ruined room in a ruined house, Moony pricked up his ears at the sound. Relief flooded through him as he realized the urge to chew off his front paw was now gone. He stood up, testing his leg gingerly, and answered his friend.  
  
  
Reassured, Padfoot paused briefly just outside the entrance. He'd learnt to give Moony a moment to collect himself. Once, he had walked in on a scene of self-destruction: humiliated, Remus had found it difficult to talk to him for days. Other times he'd been attacked with little warning, although he expected it had something to do with the remains of human scent an untransformed James or Peter may have left on his coat.  
  
Finally, Remus emerged, aloof. Overjoyed, Padfoot wagged his tail; he couldn't help it, not even if he could sense the wolf thinking "Idiot puppy! No dignity!"  
  
  
A short run later wolf, then dog, emerged at the roots of the Whomping Willow. The wolf's lip curled slightly as he smelled the freshly-marked tree, but he let it go, stepping away as Peter reset the knot and James picked up his book-bag with his horns.  
  
Then, together, the four Marauders set off towards the Forbidden Forest.  
  
  
  
Running through the forest... It was the best feeling in the world. No longer constrained by the complaining body of a feeble human, Moony was swept up in the freedom and power of this perfect form. At peace with himself for once, no humans to hunt and hurt.  
  
And the smells! Not just the strong odors dogs like Padfoot loved best, but the subtle hints scattered throughout the woods, telling stories of daring hunts and desperate escapes, of love and of the mysterious journeys of equally mysterious beasts.   
  
Feeling the muscles in his body move in total accord, sniffing at the wind, Moony ran. James had often spoken about the pleasures of dipping and diving on his broom - not very eloquently, perhaps, but with that gleam in his eye that only Quidditch could raise - but Remus privately thought that it could not possibly compare to _this_.  
  
Knowing his friends were nearby made it all the better. He knew that, when his greyish form wove in and out of the leafy shadows, they worried that he might disappear, but he knew also that he would never willingly leave them behind. They were the reason his mind was there for this wonderful ride; and here, at last, he felt well able to repay them. He scoured the trail for signs of danger, or even discomfort, enjoying the sense that he was their protector.  
  
Full of pride and joy, Moony howled.  
  
  
Wormtail, riding on Progs' back, shuddered briefly as the unearthly sound filled the air. He had to remind himself that the howler was friend, not foe. Another moonlit night... another night of danger and ill-concealed terror... it was always like this... oh, why had he come?  
  
Because when the sun rose again, all the terror would be gone, replaced by memories of glorious adventure - and even, perhaps, memories of his brief moments of courage. And because Peter Pettigrew's mundane little life would have been nearly unbearable without all his memories of the nights when he Ran With The Big Boys.  
  
Another howl made him shiver. Wormtail cowered, and endured.  
  
  
Padfoot, meanwhile, listened to the howls with excitement. He barked out a joyful reply, pausing when he realized just how much he sounded like an over-eager puppy. Running on, he decided that he just didn't care. Well, he _was_ young, and enthusiastic, and what was wrong with that? This was _meant_ to be a joyous adventure. Perhaps one day angst would come.  
  
The great dog sniffed the air, seeking potential mates and opponents. He smelt Moony, and leapt off the path to seek his friend among the trees. His bright barks carried the hint of a challenge.  
  
  
The stag watched him go, and pondered the ways of canines. They were so easily distracted. Where would they be without him to guide them?  
  
All the same, Prongs was quite happy that they'd briefly chosen to make their own way to the destination. The spring air was making him feel strange and edgy. He had only recently managed to stop thinking of his doggy friends as hopeless predators, and now, all of a sudden, he seemed unable to think of them as anything but unworthy rivals. He pitied them profoundly in their sad, antler-less state.  
  
  
  
Driven by his strong sense of purpose, Prongs was the first to reach the unsteady, squelching ground at the edge of the swamp, where the Stick Snake was known to thrive. He paused, nibbling at some swamp grass, as Wormtail jumped off and took a quick look around.  
  
It was quite dark here. The swamp edge was the site of an ongoing battle between mud and forest, which the mud was obviously winning. The blind, rotting trunks that stood all around them were evidence enough that the treacherous water was seeping in further and further among the trees. Moonlight shone down on the scene, highlighting twisted, splintered branches festooned with strands of moss so light that they swayed and moved even in the perfectly still, fetid air.  
  
In other words, it was all rather creepy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
DISCLAIMER: The Marauders, the grounds of Hogwarts, and the whole wide wizarding world belong to J.K. Rowlings. The inspiration to write an Animagi story came from Wolfietwin1/Moon. (Btw, Moon, before there's any trouble, my Remus rolls over, shows throat, and freely acknowledges your Remus as alpha male.) 


End file.
